


The Wall

by Scifiroots



Category: House M.D.
Genre: April Showers Challenge, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Get Together, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-17
Updated: 2008-08-16
Packaged: 2017-10-18 05:23:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scifiroots/pseuds/Scifiroots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Developing relationship between House and Wilson, sparked by a third party's entrance into the picture. A series of related fics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. After all it's not easy (Banging your heart against some mad bugger's wall)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an anonymous request - _What's House's reaction to losing his best friend to a new, MALE lover?_ House doesn't take too kindly to the newest addition in Wilson's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular disclaimers apply. Title from Pink Floyd's "Outside the Wall"  
>  **Fandom/Characters** : House M.D. – basic cast + orig character; Wilson/OMC, pre-House/Wilson  
>  **Rated** : FRT  
>  **Summary** : For an anonymous request - _What's House's reaction to losing his best friend to a new, MALE lover?_ House doesn't take too kindly to the newest addition in Wilson's life.
> 
> May!fic 8 of 31

_Observations_ :

One, it takes a lot more than usual to dampen Wilson's mood. In fact, House has yet to win by a satisfactory margin at their usual bantering games for more than a week.

Two, Wilson quickly dismisses his badgering with an amused eye-roll and a grin.

Three, Wilson walks by Diagnostics without even looking in. (He sometimes passes with coffee in hand from some unknown resource.)

Four, newly added today—Wilson's tie is loose.

House rests his chin on his cane as he narrows his eyes in concentration. He pulls up the memory of seeing Wilson in the elevator. The other man was actually late and he looked a little harried. Not only had his tie been loose, his hair looked a little wild as if he'd tugged his fingers through it, the top two buttons of his shirt were undone, and his collar had been askew.

This, House decides, is not good.

"His face was cherry red!" Chase exclaims as House walks in. Cameron and Foreman look thoroughly engrossed in whatever their colleague is sharing.

"What's the gossip on the playground?" House asks, striding (as well as he can) to the whiteboard to note the patient's allergy to the latest IV drip.

Cameron starts hesitantly, "Well... down at the clinic someone came in with flowers." House looks over his shoulder, eyebrows raised; what the hell does that matter? "Ah, they were for Wilson."

House narrows his eyes. Tapping the marker on the edge of the board, he asks, "And who was this person?"

Chase looks at his fellows with an expression of dread. Ah yes, fair haired Chase had been on clinic duty this morning.

"Well?" he prompts.

"It was, er, a man," Chase starts, shifting uncomfortably. Foremen and Cameron are watching House while (ineffectively) pretending not to. "He was maybe six-one. Tan. Short black hair. Stubble and a goatee?"

"Congratulations," House says dryly. "Given your close attention to detail, you've apparently decided to come out of the closet."

Chase sputters incoherently, blushing fiercely. Cameron's mouth drops open a little and she quickly puts her hand on Chase's arm. Okay, maybe not gay, but definitely bi.

"And who is this mystery man?"

Three blank faces meet his stare. House scowls and flings the marker at the table. "Chase, you're on recon. Cameron, you're trying option B on the patient, and Foreman, you're talking with Grandma."

House turns towards his office, mind already working in overdrive to place this new piece into his current puzzle.

Wilson joins him on the balcony before lunch the next day. House glances sidelong at his friend and switches the tongue depressor he's chewing on to the other side of his mouth.

That damn smile that seems to be permanent lately lights up Wilson's face—a boy in a man's body. House shifts his gaze.

"I found Chase dodging around corners and nurses in attempts of following me," Wilson says, a hint of laughter in his voice. "I was wondering when one of your ducklings would turn up. I think you're getting slow, House."

Scoffing, House turns around and leans back on the wall. "That's ridiculous," he says—or tries to. He plucks the wooden stick from his mouth and glares at it. "I have perfect timing. Let you alone a while, keep you anxious, then sic the dogs on your trail."

Wilson copies his pose and chuckles. "Is that so? Do you realize that there's been something different for going on three weeks, now?"

House says nothing, internally cursing himself for only noticing a week ago. Maybe Wilson is right, he might be getting slow. Then again— "I had that neurosarcoidosis case two weeks ago."

Wilson grins, a shine of teeth exposed by parted lips. House narrows his eyes suspiciously. "That's it, who the hell slipped you a happy pill? I thought you scorned recreational drug use."

"And why should I tell when you've got Chase on the hunt?" Wilson responds, straightening up and lifting his arms in an overly casual shrug. "I have a patient, sorry. Good luck, House." He grins before turning back to the office.

"Heard some _guy_ brought you flowers," House calls. "Fending off gay stalkers now? Or is the potential fourth Mrs. Wilson too shy to approach you herself?"

Wilson shakes his head and steps inside.

Damn. He needs to send in reinforcements. If that doesn't work... well, he'll enter the playing field himself, and pretend to do clinic duty while he's at it.

Chase reports further sightings of who Cameron has taken to calling "Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome." She apparently has seen the man as well. Both of his spies report seeing Mr. Dark with Dr. Wilson at odd moments during the day: out front in the morning before Wilson checks in for the day; midmorning with a bakery bag in hand; at lunch in the cafeteria, sitting close enough that they might as well be sharing one try; downstairs at the elevators, waiting.

House is not amused by the obvious conclusions that his spies are wisely not speaking aloud. After all, Wilson, he knows, is straight as a two-by-four and a devout skirt-chaser. Unfortunately, all evidence turning up on this mysterious Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome is throwing those base assumptions off kilter. House is not pleased when his assessments turn out to be wrong; adding to that the fact that he's known Wilson for roughly a decade, and his blood is boiling.

No more time for the kiddies to play around, this is personal.

"So I was thinking," House says as he barges into Wilson's office, "beer and pizza and black and white monster flicks." He promptly sits down in a chair across from Wilson, conveniently ignoring that Wilson had to hurriedly say goodbye and hang up the phone.

For the first time in ages Wilson looks annoyed. "No."

House frowns. " _No?_ "

Wilson gives him the "I-don't-have-to-translate-that-for-you" look.

"Why not?" House demands, irritated that Wilson would dismiss him.

"For starters, I'd be paying. But mostly, I have plans." He suddenly finds the file sitting in front of him captivating.

House watches the avoidance tactic and attempts to assess how best to crack open the situation.

"Cameron's calling your other half Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome," he announces. He smirks when Wilson's head snaps up and a scandalized expression crosses his face. Pleased, House leans back in the chair, shifting into a more comfortable position. "If I didn't know better, Jimmy, I might say all your panty-peeling's been a ruse."

Wilson narrows his eyes. "And that matters why?" he asks.

House widens his eyes innocently. "Why would it matter to your bestest friend? Do you need to ask?"

"Nice try," Wilson says. He bows his head to gaze at his hands resting on the desk, fingers interlocked. "So you think you know everything about my sex life?" He glances up at House through the fall of hair brushing over his brow. House finds himself a little unsettled at the image that presents.

"You do tell quite a lot after that messy kissing business," House responds.

Wilson's eyes trail to the side. "Mmm. But do you really think I'd tell it all?" He licks his lips nervously. "I admire your intuition, I assume by now you're drawing your own conclusions. Probably as lurid and outrageous as possible to avoid the truth." His smile seems genuine enough but House sees a glimmer of bitterness around the edges.

"Chris is... well, that's Cameron's 'Mr. Tall and Dark.' We're dating." He says it plainly, as if he's talking about the weather and not coming out to his best friend. House keeps his reaction in check. "Yes, he's given me flowers and shows up sometimes in the afternoon to drive me home. And yes, sometimes he drives me to work because I spent the night." He looks up and fixes House with a challenging stare. "Do you really care for me to get into the details?"

House meets the stare unflinchingly, but his expression remains a neutral mask. Eventually the corners of Wilson's mouth tighten and he looks away. "Go away, House," he says quietly. His head drops heavily to his chest.

House stands up without a word and walks out.

A few days later House finds himself parking his bike out-of-sight at an ungodly early hour. He pops an extra Vicodin as he settles in to wait. He watches as a red Audi pulls into temporary parking and two men get out of the car. Chris is taller than Wilson by a couple inches. Even at a distance House can tell Chris is an athlete and his job entails some heavy-lifting. Construction, maybe, which would help explain the tan. House's lips thin in irritation.

Chris leans into Wilson with familiar ease, exuding confidence that he has the right to get so close. Wilson places a hand on Chris's hip and lets the taller man kiss him. House glances away for a moment, steadying his breathing and trying to ignore the pounding in his ears. He looks back and finds that this is no simple kiss—Wilson's back is against the car and Chris has his hands low and clutching Wilson's ass. House snarls quietly and turns away. He tugs off his sunglasses and hurls them at an unsuspecting Chevy a few feet away.

Sometime later he is able to look again. Wilson has organized himself, although his tie is still askew, and he walks towards the entrance. He turns to wave; Chris is waving back, a huge smile taking up most of his face. House doesn't just dislike this man, he loathes him. He wouldn't mind administering a LP or doing some surgery without anesthesia...

Chris stands around even after Wilson goes inside. House limps himself with determination towards Mr. Tall and Dark. Chris turns, curiosity written across his features, as House draws closer. The man doesn't register the danger until House swings his cane out to strike him in the shin. Chris swears loudly and curls over reflexively. House happily punches the guy in the face and watches as Chris loses his balance and falls on his side.

"Jesus Christ!" The man pushes himself up quickly and takes a defensive stance. "I don't usually feel like beating on cripple, man, but I'm definitely reconsidering."

House snorts at the threat. "Where'd you get those muscles? From some Boflex special? Or is it a special steroid of choice?" He pokes Chris's chest with his cane.

"You should leave and get into your doctor's appointment, gimp."

"Ooo, I'm scared," House mocks, waving his hands dramatically in the air. "And 'gimp?' You're one uncreative son of a bitch. I'm sure that's a big turn on."

Chris's eyes narrow suspiciously. "What is this, your sorry attempt at gay bashing?"

"No," House draws out the 'o' and leans forward on his cane. He explains slowly, "Gay, happy, cheerful, whatever, can't bother myself tracking down all those stupid people. But you seem like a perfect target." He fixes Chris with a grin.

He doesn't even see the fist, only feels it as knuckles slam into his jaw and he twists on his bad leg. He stumbles backward and throws out his arms to catch himself on a car before he can fall to the ground. He takes a moment to collect his bearings, then smiles. "Heh, nice one. Feel good to pick on a cripple? I'm sure that impresses all the boyfriends."

Chris flexes his fingers in another warning. House ignores it as he stands up straight. His cane is on the ground off to the side somewhere; he'll get it later.

"Then again, it seems to me Dr. Wilson isn't a big fan of violence." He purses his lips and stares at the hospital thoughtfully. From the corner of his eye he sees Chris start at the mention of Wilson. He recovers quickly, and looks even angrier.

 _Real smart, Greg,_ part of his mind chides.

"Who the hell are you?" Chris demands, sounding as much frustrated as he is mad.

House smirks. "He's too good for you, and you don't deserve him."

"Oh really?" Chris eyes him scornfully. "I suppose you're a jilted lover. No, you're too pathetic for that. You're some gutless fool who couldn't take what was up for grabs." House's eyes narrow. "You're one sorry SOB," Chris says, cold amusement cutting through his anger.

 _"What was up for grabs?"_ House doesn't miss the implication. He steps toward Chris, fingers curling into fists without thought as he swears up a storm in Arabic. (English always fails to carry the appropriate measure of vehemence.)

House's punch brushes past Chris's shoulder as the man effortlessly shifts out of the way. It feels like a boulder hurls into his stomach. The air in his lungs disappears in an instant. The shock of the gut punch muffles the feeling of a fist crashing into his chin. House drops to the ground, gasping for breath.

He vaguely hears the sounds of angry footsteps and the slam of a car door. Instinctively he forces himself to roll away from the car backing up. He squints his eyes open in time to watch the front tire crunch over his cane. The son of a bitch stops and runs over it twice more before pulling out and taking off, engine revving loudly.

House closes his eyes, still gasping for air and cursing himself. Wilson is definitely going to kill him. Or he'll let Chris finish the job. He grimaces at the thought.

He's far from fine at the moment and in no condition to even try standing. He hopes he'll have a snappy comeback for whoever finds his sorry ass lying out here. In the meantime he wants the pain to go away. He digs in his jacket pocket for the pill bottle, ignoring his body's screams of pain. Two Vicodin and a little time go a long way in helping soothe the worst of it.

Cameron stops mid-sentence and stares in horror as House limps into the room on a hospital-issued cane. He hates the damn things, but now is not a good time to argue with Cuddy. (Of course it would be her who finds him. She isn't amused or impressed by his sarcastic recollection of a fantasy encounter. For once, though, her anger is targeted on the third party who'd whooped his ass and broken his cane in the process. House refuses to admit that he can identify his assailant.)

Chase and Foreman are on their feet, both wearing shocked expressions. House waves them off irritably and limps towards the coffee. He snaps, "Who'd you find? Please regale me with the tales of your latest failures."

With that, things go back to normal with Chase and Foreman, although it won't stop the glances or gossip behind his back. Cameron, of course, is hard to shake. He recognizes the worried look in her eyes that means she'll be bothering him all day in attempts to kiss his owies and make it 'all better.' He gulps his coffee (grimacing at the pressure on his split lit) and mentally prepares himself for the day.

House finally chases Cameron out that evening by flinging a patient file at her and bopping her on the head with the oversized tennis ball while she's kneeling down to pick up the papers. He smirks in her wake and leans back in his chair. He grimaces now that he's alone and carefully props his bad leg on the foot stool. His gut hurts, his jaw aches, his split lip stings, and the pain in his leg is all-consuming—more than the usual thigh damage, he has a minor ankle sprain.

Eyes closed, he rubs his thigh and hisses at the tight muscles. Definitely did a little too much dancing with Mr. _Big_ and Dark. (And did Cameron—more importantly, Wilson—really find the guy attractive?) He frees a hand and blindly reaches for his trusty pill bottle.

Even though he feels nothing but the usual desktop odds and ends beneath his fingertips, he hears the shake of pills sliding around their little plastic home. He frowns and opens his eyes. Ooh goody... Wilson is standing at the edge of his desk, staring directly at him with a shuttered expression. He holds the Vicodin captive.

"Give me a break," House mutters, making a "gimme" motion with his fingers. "Look at my beautiful face—wrecked! Want to see the bruise under my shirt? I swear to God it's looking like the Virgin Mary," he says with wide eyes.

Wilson barely blinks. Fuck, this does not look good.

House refuses to start the real conversation. He focuses on his thigh again, rubbing carefully, wishing that it actually did something to help.

"I should take this and flush every last one down the toilet," Wilson says with a shake of the pill bottle. House glances up quickly, the streak of horror at that threat striking quick enough that he can't hold back a reaction. He stares up at Wilson and realizes moments later that his friend wouldn't do that.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Wilson demands, face contorting in a mix of confusion, fury, and concern. "What the hell were you _doing_? You punched him? Verbally assaulted him? And hit him with your cane?" His voice rises with every question.

House leans back and steeples his fingers together. He stares at his fingertips when he answers. "Actually it was whack, punch, verbal, some colorful language, and an _attempt_ of another punch."

Wilson remains silent.

Eventually he sighs in resignation and tosses House the pill bottle. Wilson slumps into a chair. He studies Wilson with a critical eye as he tosses back a few Vicodin.

"I don't get you," Wilson mutters, staring up at the ceiling. "You walk out of my office the other day acting like I'm some sort of threat or an enemy and then— Were you spying on me?" He looks at House and faintly blushes. "You're a pervert." Without allowing House a chance to respond, Wilson returns his stare to the ceiling and continues. "You come up and punch my boyfriend and proceed to put him on the defense by attacking with your usual diplomacy. Do you enjoy tempting fate?"

He checks himself and smiles a little. "What am I saying? Of course you do." He looks down and fixes House with a disappointed stare. "What's the problem? Is it that you don't know everything about me? Or is it that I'm bi and I'm sleeping with a man?" He waits and House finds he can't answer; not right now. Wilson's eyes widen slightly and he visibly swallows. His fingers dig into the arms of his chair and he shifts minutely. "Or is it that it's not you?" he whispers.

House sits straight up with a protest already spilling past his lips. But the anger is a brief burst that abruptly disappears and leaves him surprisingly empty. Despite the Vicodin he's keenly aware of every body ache and an on-coming headache. He slumps in the chair with a deep frown. Fuck.

Wilson is leaning forward, staring at his hands hanging between his legs. He shakes his head slowly, clearly in disbelief.

"House, I... Jeez." He buries his face in his hands.

House snorts in irritation. "Don't worry, I'm not a big threat, especially after your butch boyfriend laid me flat. Hmm. Suppose that's a bad choice of words." Wilson looks up helplessly, and House flashes him a toothy grin. Wilson just looks devastated. House scowls and glances away. "The guy's an ass and an idiot. Said you'd been up for grabs. Seems like you were advertising yourself, Jimmy." He tilts his head and looks back at Wilson, willing the other man to pick up on the underlying advice.

Wilson gives a tiny smile. "Funny you should say that. You're a bigger jerk than he'll ever be... and yet you still win out." He narrows his eyes. "You want every person I meet to pass through your own personal filter. As if you're a good judge of character." He eyes House skeptically. "Why do you always screw with things?"

House has no answer. Wilson stares at the floor. They both wait. House knows Wilson longs for an apology while recognizing he won't ever get one. House secretly wishes Wilson would come over and run his thumb over House's split lip before kissing him.

Yeah, he's definitely fucked things up this time.


	2. After all it's not easy (Banging your heart against some mad bugger's wall)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson wants things sorted out as much as Cuddy does

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bleeding hearts and the artists (Make their stand)
> 
> By Clarity Scifiroots  
> Regular disclaimers apply. Title again from Pink Floyd's "Outside the Wall."  
>  **Fandom/Characters** : House M.D. – basic cast + orig character; pre-House/Wilson, past Wilson/OMC  
>  **Rated** : FRT  
>  **Summary** : Wilson wants things sorted out as much as Cuddy does. Continuation of "After all it's not easy..." (thanks for the encouragement!)  
> May!fic 9 of 31

_Patient History:_

First, Wilson meets Chris Anderson at a bookstore coffee shop. They're both perusing novels by the same author and start to talk. They meet a few days later to talk some more. They exchange numbers.

Next, their first date is on the other side of town at Chris's favorite French restaurant; he explains that he helped build the place a few years ago. Chris is a construction manager. By the end of the week Wilson's been to Chris's house twice. The third night he comes by, he finds himself taking off Chris's shirt and trembling with anticipation as Chris unbuckles his belt.

Then, House starts to suspect. Chase does the grunt work, probably because he often has clinic duty overlapping with Wilson's and saw Chris drop by one day. Cameron joins Chase in spying after House tries to bully information from Wilson.

Next, House barges into his office and pokes some more. Wilson admits defeat and answers. When House walks out, he's convinced his fears are verified.

And then House does something incredibly stupid: he harasses Chris (mostly verbal). Understandably, Chris gets upset. Inexcusable is the matter of Chris responding by beating the crap out of House. When they meet up at five Chris tells Wilson about the run in with a "crippled jackass" and the resulting verbal/physical fight. Wilson explains nothing about House nor gives any suggestion of the man personally, but states in no uncertain terms that he won't tolerate violence.

Later that evening, he confronts House. Like always, he receives no apology, no explanation, and does most of the talking... An epiphany stirs up a whole new world of trouble. He realizes House's actions are more than the result of his usual possessive nature of controlling people. House is jealous, and Wilson doesn't know what to do about that.

"Come in!"

Cuddy walks in and says without preamble, "Do you owe someone money?"

Wilson turns away from his computer and stares at her. "Excuse me?"

She arches an eyebrow expectantly. "I've just fended off a Mr. Anderson for the fifth time in the past two days. He's insisting that he see you." Wilson feels the blood drain from his face. Cuddy looks grim as she takes a seat. "Rumor has it you've been awful friendly with Chris Anderson the past few weeks. Care to tell me what's going on?"

"Not particularly," Wilson says with a sigh. He leans forward, propping his elbows on the desk, and rubs his forehead wearily. "There's this personal element to _personal_ matters."

Cuddy casts him an amused smile. "I hadn't realized. I still think you might want to take a guess at why your friend's lurking around and getting more frustrated by the hour."

Wilson's helpless look does nothing to put her off. Cuddy leans forward a bit, her low-cut shirt revealing the expected flash of cleavage. "I'm pretty sure you know all about House's 'little' incident in the parking lot. He fed me an elaborate yarn including ninjas and a dwarf." She shakes her head, clearly at least a little amused. "However, I have the sneaking suspicion that the cause of your latest upheaval is due to a run-in between our resident sarcastic bastard and your... ex-boyfriend." She waits patiently, her expression telling Wilson there's no way he'll get away with leaving anything out.

"If you've got it all figured out, why come to me?" Wilson asks in irritation.

"I'm sure it wasn't unprovoked," Cuddy says, "but I'm not eager to let a man who assaulted my best doctor roam around hospital grounds." She fixes him with a determined glare. "With House unwilling to admit he can identify his attacker I have no confirmation of what happened, and I can't easily ban Anderson from the premises. I'd appreciate your help."

With a soft groan, Wilson leans back in his chair and pinches his nose. A migraine's settling in...

"House attacked him first," he finally says. "Mostly I know Chris's side of the story. You know House, he won't admit much." His reigns in his expression tightly. Thinking about House is something he wishes he could avoid. "Look, I'll talk to Chris..."

Cuddy looks unimpressed. Her lips press tightly together, the white of constricted blood flow clear even beneath her lipstick. "I had to just about drag House inside the other day. Care to know the list of injuries?" Wilson winces at her sharp tone. No, he really doesn't want to know the extent of Chris's damage. He certainly doesn't want to feel guilty over a situation that had been out of his control to begin with.

"The same punch that loosened a few of his teeth made him bite his cheek. Then there's the split lip and facial bruising. I had to check for fractured ribs and internal bleeding because there's a hell of a bruise below his chest. He sprained his ankle. And let's not forget Mr. Anderson deliberately running over House's cane."

Wilson stays silent, feeling a little numb. Cuddy looks particularly intimidating at the moment.

After a couple minutes Cuddy calms down and sighs wearily. "And what trace did House leave? A bruise on Anderson's lower jaw. I think this was a little more than an eye-for-an-eye."

Wilson avoids Cuddy's stare by looking anywhere but her face. "There's the nasty bruise on his shin," he mumbles. It's a weak argument, he knows, and honestly he doesn't really want to defend Chris; but House is by no means an innocent bystander.

"Oh yes, that gives Anderson the right to run over a crippled man's cane and leave him lying on the pavement with God knows what injuries."

"I'm not defending him!" Wilson sighs, dropping his head in his hands. "It was out of line. There's plenty of times— But he didn't deserve it from Chris."

Cuddy's smile is grim when he looks up. "I want you in my office the next time this man comes calling. And I'm having security outside waiting to escort Anderson away. Permanently. I don't want that man setting foot in this hospital ever again."

She stands once Wilson gives a defeated nod. At the door she pauses. "I'm sorry." She glances at him sympathetically. "This isn't your fault, you know. Try not to beat yourself up too much?"

"Yeah..." Wilson stares blindly at the wall opposite him for a long time after she leaves.

Foreman catches up with him the next morning in the elevator.

"Whatever the problem is, you mind hurrying along the resolution?"

Wilson casts him an irritated glance. "You realize that, as is the case with most of these breaks in communication, House is the one who screwed up."

"Sure. But he never fixes things." Foreman's expression is expectant. "Besides, this is about his run-in with the boyfriend, right?"

Wilson does a great impression of a goldfish, unable to say anything. The elevator opens and Foreman sticks a hand out to hold the doors. He raises his eyebrows and smiles a little. "Seriously, talk, duke it out, screw for all I care. Just get him out of this funk."

The elevator doors close behind him and Wilson is left staring wide-eyed at his reflection.

Shit.

Two hours later Cuddy calls. "He's in the clinic asking for you at the desk. I want you to come down and get him, then meet me in my office. Got it?"

Wilson shrugs into his lab coat.

He taps his foot nervously during the elevator ride and switches to drumming his fingers on his hip when he starts walking down the hall. As he nears the clinic he sees House standing at the doors, one step out into the hall. His attention is focused behind him, and he doesn't see Wilson.

Oh, shit.

He quickens his steps and ends up virtually running when House turns around and walks back inside, shoulders squared in preparation for a fight. The voices carry out into the hall and Wilson's peripherally aware of patients and staff whispering to one another. He pushes his way in and takes a deep breath. The tension in the air is palpable.

"House, back off," he says, quickly coming alongside his friend. House glances at him sidelong and Wilson finds himself staring at the yellowing bruise at the corner of House's mouth.

"You _know_ him?" Chris is fuming. Wilson stares at him in surprise. This is definitely not the man he's known in the past weeks. (Why does House have to be right?)

Wilson takes a few steps forward so that he's roughly in the middle of the face-off. Commonsense yells at him to keep out of the way, but he doesn't think he can bear to actually watch House get beat up.

"Chris, let it be. Please, let's get out of here. This is disrupting our patients." He holds his hands out in supplication. "You need to leave."

"Be gone!" House says with a magnanimous wave of his hand. Wilson glares at him.

"Isn't this a free clinic?" Chris demands, stare fixed on House. "I have every right to be here. So, what are you? In-patient? Psych ward escapee?"

House snorts derisively. "Sorry to disappoint. Doctor," he says, pointing smugly at himself. "Genius. Miracle worker. As opposed to your Neanderthal status."

Chris is moving forward. Wilson jumps in, holding his hands up in attempts to fend him off. "Alright, alright! Chris, listen to me. He's a real jerk, but you need to let it go. Can we please go somewhere else to talk?"

Finally Chris's stare changes focus. Wilson backs up a step at the intensity. He swears he can feel the slight pressure of fingertips on his back.

"What was this—were you planning on jealousy to initiate the relationship you really wanted? Or do you just enjoy sleeping around?"

Wilson clenches his fists and tries to calm down before saying anything that might worsen the situation.

Luckily, he doesn't have to say anything. Cuddy's voice snaps through the air like a whip. "Mr. Anderson! You will leave the hospital immediately. These fine members of our security team will make sure you find your way off the grounds." She strides over, heels clicking sharply on the linoleum. She stops only a few inches away from Chris and glares up at him.

In a lower voice she warns, "You are henceforth banned from entering the premises. If you persist I will gladly call the police to haul you off to jail. You are damn lucky I'm not reporting you already for assaulting one of my doctors." She takes a deep breath and steps back. "Have a good day," she says, voice dripping with disdain.

Security comes forward and lead Chris away. At least the man isn't making more of a scene, although the fury sparking in his eyes is threatening enough. Wilson doesn't breathe easily until they're out of sight. He sags with relief and barely hears Cuddy ordering everyone to get on with their work.

"I want you both to watch your backs," Cuddy says, one hand on her hip and the other pointing accusingly between House and Wilson. "I can take care of things at the hospital, but I wouldn't put it past that man to pick up a stalking habit." She sighs tiredly and looks at Wilson in bemusement. "You certainly attract the _interesting_ ones." With a shake of her head she walks off.

Wilson rubs his neck uncomfortably as he realizes there's still plenty of people staring in their direction.

"How 'bout you buy me lunch," House says, already turning towards the exit. Wilson stares heavenward for a moment before trailing along behind.

Wilson unlocks his office the next morning and stops in surprise when he sees a small cushioned envelope sitting on his desk. He glances down at the door handle, knowing instinctively that House has messed with the lock (again).

He sets aside his briefcase and throws his jacked over the back of his chair. He sits down and stares suspiciously at the innocuous-looking package; from House, you never know what to expect.

Eventually he gives into temptation and pulls the lightweight package onto his lap. He digs his finger under the flap and tugs, wrestling with the damn adhesive that practically cements the two sides together. He does manage to get it open and reaches in.

He pulls out a folded piece of paper and a pair of cheap, plastic sunglasses. Bewildered, he sets the glasses aside and unfolds the paper. It's a webpage print out. The website title is printed in the upper left-hand margin: "Self-Defense Security Products." The top half has a picture of a pair of sunglasses with bolded text underneath it exclaiming "Spy Glasses!" He feels his lips twitching toward a smile.

The write-up reads: _"These spy glasses look like an ordinary pair of sun glasses. Yet they have a unique feature...you can see behind you. The lenses on these spy glasses have a special coating that allows you to look straight ahead and still see what is going on behind you.  
_  
 _Stylish and great for walking and biking._ _You won't need to turn your head to see if a car is coming. It'll be like you have a rear view mirror with you. Have you ever thought you were being followed? Now, no one can sneak up behind you. These spy sunglasses make a great novelty gift!"_

Wilson can't help but chuckle. He lets the paper drop onto his desk so that he can examine the glasses. Clearly these aren't the ones from the website—they're the old school "cool" shades with small mirrors at the outside corners of the lenses. He leans back and holds the glasses up, amusing himself by playing around and looking at the reflections.

House appears on the balcony later that day. He stands at the dividing wall looking perfectly casual. Wilson isn't sure how long he's been standing there. Glancing at the glasses sitting on his desk, he makes his decision. He grabs the glasses on his way out.

House makes a show of looking surprised. Wilson gives him an exasperated look.

"I hope you don't really think these will do any good," Wilson says, holding out the glasses.

"How can you distrust the best spy glasses on the market?" House scoffs. He snatches the glasses from Wilson's hand and puts them on. He looks around, then turns so that his back is to Wilson. "Hold up your hand, I'll tell you how many fingers you're holding up.

Wilson plays along for a few moments.

"Two. Four. Five... Ooo, that's naughty." House tilts his head. "And all it takes is a stupid game to get you to smile."

Wilson shakes his head in amusement. He's grinning when House turns around and hands back the glasses. "You're obnoxious as hell," he says.

House raises an eyebrow. "And that makes you grin, why?" He rolls his eyes dramatically. "You are such a masochist."

"If I was, I would have made an attempt to punch Chris yesterday," he says in all seriousness. House's expression of surprise is genuine. Wilson glances away and rubs the back of his neck self-consciously. "He had no right to beat you up." His mouth tightens as he thinks of Cuddy listing off the injuries. "I'm not condoning your own attack, but his retaliation was too much."

He looks back at House. The other man is staring thoughtfully into the middle-distance, expression blank. Wilson wishes House would apologize or, barring that, at least make some move so he'll know what to do.

Eventually House glances at him with a little smirk. "I think Cuddy may be right, you attract some real head cases."

Wilson folds his arms over his chest. "Yes. I think you're the strangest, though."

House straightens up proudly. "Damn right. Can't be a genius and be _normal_."

"Whatever lets you sleep at night," Wilson says with amusement.

They lean comfortably against the wall for a few minutes, the silence a familiar one devoid of recent tensions or expectations.

House clears his throat some time later and turns his head slightly to look at Wilson. "So I was thinking it'd be in our best interests if you stayed over a few days. You know, let the Neanderthal cool off and move onto a new target. Cuddy would go on a rampage if you got damaged."

Wilson bows his head to hide a smile. "Power in numbers?" he queries.

"Something like that."

Wilson looks up. "And what sort of takeout am I bringing over?"

House squints at the sky. "Oh... I have a little money on the sly. Thought I'd order Chinese?"

Wilson is speechless. He stares at House for long moments, watching as House shifts minutely in a sign of discomfort.

Finally Wilson grins. "I'll come over after grabbing a few things from the hotel," he promises.

House glances at him from the corner of his eye. "You're not moving in," he warns. Wilson smirks.

Conversation apparently over, House stretches and picks up his cane to go back inside. Wilson makes a split-second decision and reaches out to catch House's arm. He leans in quickly and brushes his lips over the fading bruise. House is staring at him when he pulls back. Wilson smiles a little and walks back to his office, hands in his pocket and whistling a tune.

Spy Glasses description quoted from


	3. Him and me alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just how long did it take for one of the guys to jump the other after Chris becomes history?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular disclaimers apply. Title from a line in Pink Floyd's "The Trial."  
>  **Fandom/Characters** : House MD – House/Wilson  
>  **Rated** : Mature (didn't quite make it to "adults only," yet)  
>  **Summary** : Just how long did it take for one of the guys to jump the other after Chris becomes history?  
>  **Series** : Follows "After all it's not easy..." and "The bleeding hearts..." (Although this can stand alone.)  
> May!fic 31 of 31  
>  _LAST DAY OF MAY!FIC! Hooray for success!_

Self-control is something House prides himself on. It's not something he has particularly attributed to Wilson in the past, considering the man's flirtations and affairs (and really there haven't been as many as House usually suggests). However, of the two of them, Wilson isn't the one who shoves his tongue into his best friend's mouth and pins said best friend onto the couch.

Five days. Five fucking days since Wilson kissed his cheek and walked away nonchalant. The following nights Wilson spent sleeping on House's couch, and though their banter had a touch more of a flirtatious nature, no outright movements had been made, no serious propositions offered. House smirked to himself when he thought about their situation throughout the day—often during the boring hours spent at the clinic. He felt confident that soon Wilson would break down and make another move.

Yet here they are on the couch with some sitcom on the soon forgotten television: House on top of Wilson, tongue invading the other man's mouth, and hips bearing down to rub their groins together. His leg is already flaring with pain, but House refuses to wait any longer.

Thankfully Wilson proves he hasn't had second thoughts and recovers quickly. His hands slide under House's shirt and his fingers dig into back muscles; his mouth moves to accommodate House's; he guides House's body so that he's supporting the bad leg instead of it taking half of House's weight.

House withdraws his tongue and grins at the noise of protest. He nips Wilson's lower lip and follows it up with a lick. His hand rubs firmly over Wilson's hip as he murmurs, "Come to bed, Jimmy."

Wilson huffs out a laugh and opens his eyes. "How long have you been waiting to say that?"

"Too God damn long!" House growls and forces himself to move into something of a sitting position. He stretches to reach his cane. Before he can stand up Wilson's arms snake around his waist and a hand ghosts over his groin. House shudders and casts his friend a smoldering look. Wilson smiles impishly. "Bed," House says between gritted teeth.

Wilson's hand settles over House's crotch as he presses up against the man's back. "I thought you'd be more adventurous," Wilson murmurs, lips dancing over the curve of a sensitive ear.

It's difficult to keep his hands to himself, but House is determined not to give up control; he started this after all. "Not adverse," he responds, turning his head slightly. This ends up being a mistake as it allows Wilson to start nibbling his jaw. The rest of what House says doesn't come out as clearly. "Just not... ah... so-mmm... flexible..."

Apparently Wilson is nowhere near the level of sainthood some people believe he's attained—his fingers and mouth are utterly sinful. Wilson shifts and his legs press against House's sides. Their bodies press together—front to back, a little awkwardly due to unnecessary amounts of constraining garments.

With a groan, House frees one hand and presses it on top of the one Wilson's resting over his groin. He pushes their joined hands against his erection as he cants his hips upwards. Against his ear Wilson releases a breathy moan. House grins and repeats the motion, making sure to press back enough to offer some friction for Wilson's similar condition.

When Wilson's movements start settling into a rhythm and his panting breaths brush hotly into the curve of House's neck, House abruptly stops all movement. Before his friend can register what's happening, he stands up and tugs at Wilson's arm. House would love to continue this right here but he'd rather wake up with the pleasant aches from sex overshadowing the blinding pain of his abused leg.

Wilson's eyes eventually focus on House's face, and immediately he picks up the message. He's on his feet in a moment and walking backwards, leading House along with a grin on his face.

House puts up a token protest. "It's my place, why the hell are _you_ leading _me_ to _my_ bedroom?"

By the time Wilson yanks House down to join him on the mattress, there's no more objections.


End file.
